Honey, I Shrunk the Robots
by A'isha Ishtar
Summary: It's not unusual for an artist to live out of the way, almost in the middle of nowhere, like they don't want to be found. Because most of the time, they really don't. It is kind of unusual, however, when their out of the way house is full of robots waging a mini war. Er, um... emphasis on the "mini".


**Wellllll~ I'm sure you all remember my "Honey, I Shrunk the Robots" rule book I've just made. I wasn't going to post this one, but thanks to nudging from wheeljacksgirl and Enchanted, I've decided, well, what they hey? You only live once, after all.**

**So, here is the story that inspired the rule book! Follow Tally, a hopeful artist with the world as her oyster, as she discovers the... tiny terrors that await her after she purchases her new house.**

**I hope you all like this and the rule book!**

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Tally Hanson had always been different, as far back as she could remember. She was the least normal one in her rather conformist family, and had weird ideas, but it could probably be summed up by the fact that she loved art. Artists were known for being "out there", so she took some small security in the fact that she was weird because artists were weird, not because there was anything abnormal about _her_ personally. However, she knew that while her family loved her, it became increasingly clear that she drove them up the wall most of the time.

The day she turned eighteen was about a week from her high school graduation. The day after the ceremony, she packed up her things, bought a little apartment with the money she'd saved throughout various jobs in high school, and headed for college after a year of doing commissions. The program she took was only two years, but it was an intense one, and she kept doing commissions on the side to earn money as she had before attending.

And finally, she'd arrived here, at the end of her college life. Twenty-one years old, officially allowed by law to drink, and with only some idea of where she could go from here. She had a little money saved up, and she'd talked with the local human resource center. They said they received requests for commissions by professional artists, but they didn't yet have a professional artist to fulfill them. So, she had a job now anyway.

All that was left was a house. She wanted to leave her tiny, cramped apartment for a bigger place, but she didn't want a huge three-story house or something. She didn't even know if she could afford the down payment. And she _really_ didn't want to live in the city.

But as luck would have it, there was this house out in the woods that had been left for a while. A year or two, the realtor said, and since the previous owner had left in a hurry - leaving most of his things behind as well - and the realtor was having a hard time finding a buyer for the house, she got it for a good price. She even had a little left after she forked over the down payment. Not much, but she could live on it until she got paid for that first commission.

She'd brought the first commission request with her, in her bookbag. She didn't have too much besides that; a suitcase of her favorite clothes, including a certain pair of pink "hot pants" she'd gotten a little too creative with and a bunch of tie-dyed End-of-the-Year T-shirts, and her big old art kit from college. Since the realtor said most of the stuff was left behind, she figured she shouldn't have to buy much if everything was in working order.

She'd driven up her car, which she and everyone else called Picasso, and was taking her stuff out of the car. She slung her backpack full of sketchbooks and notebooks and pens and pencils over her shoulder, with her suitcase and art kit in either hand. It was a bigger house than she'd expected it to be when she first talked to the realtor, but she liked it anyway. It wasn't _too_ big, maybe two floors, and it was far enough away from the city. She wouldn't have any trouble driving into town to deliver the finished commissions, and people could still contact her if they wanted or needed to.

She pushed the door open and found herself walking into a living room. A couch, chairs, and a TV. "Huh. Cool." She set her stuff down by the doorway, including her backpack, and walked over to the TV. To her surprise, she found an entire shelf full of DVDs. _Transformers Generation 1... Transformers Animated... Transformers Beast Wars... Transformers Prime..._ and then three consecutive ones titled differently. _Transformers; Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen; _and _Transformers: Dark of the Moon._

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, geez... the first movie was pretty cool, but isn't this taking it a bit far?" She pulled out a couple of the _Animated_ ones and looked at them. "Hmm. Maybe I should start watching these. Looks cute." She set them on top of the shelf, and as she did she thought she heard a thump, but decided it must have just been maybe a tree outside or something.

She was about to sit down on the couch when the thought occurred to her that she was hungry. "I wonder if they left any food..." she muttered, heading to the kitchen. Maybe if the guy left the furniture, he'd left so fast there was a little food still in the kitchen. Worth a shot, anyway. If not, she could always take a road trip into town.

She stretched out as she walked into the kitchen, and decided she'd probably have to paint everything. This house was too boring and pastel for her. She looked in a few of the cupboards, finding plates and bowls and cups. If there was any food left, it would be in the other cupboards. She walked toward them, but stopped when she heard a shuffling sound coming from one of them.

She hesitated before reaching for it, and cocked an eyebrow. "What in the world? Did a squirrel or something get in here?"

She thought she heard voices, and that just made her more curious. She wrapped her fingers around the handle. "On three," she mumbled. "One, two..." She shouted "three!" rather loud and swung the door open.

And was promptly assaulted by what felt like a tiny laser aimed at her cheek. And it _burned._

What she was now faced with was what appeared to be a small army of miniature... wait, those looked like the characters on the DVD cover. Little _robots._ And they were moving too! "Dude!" she shouted, waving her hand at the laser - which did little except burn her hand as well. "What gives!"

The one firing at her, a yellow-and-black mech, disengaged the laser. "Get lost, Decepticon scum!" He then turned to another mech, this one gold-and-black. "How'd I do that time, Prowler? Huh? Was I _convincing?_"

The other mech crossed his arms. "That was the worst attack I've ever seen, Bumblebee. I can't believe you actually tried an assault on something at least ten times your size."

"Hey!" Tally wasn't too thrilled with being ignored. She had no idea what was happening, but she wouldn't just stand there while they talked about her like she wasn't even in the room. "Excuse me, I have _feelings!_ What the hell is going on here?"

Another mech, somewhat larger than the others, stepped forward. "Forgive my men. We assumed you were a Decepticon or... one of their allies."

"A what now?" She blinked. "Oh, you mean the bad guys?"

"Yes. My name is Optimus Prime, and we are the Autobots. Though our ranks at the moment are a bit-"

"Hold... you gotta give me a minute, okay?" She pulled out a stool and sat down, staring at the cabinet. "So... okay. I just saw a DVD of you guys sitting on a shelf in the living room there. And now you're toys in my new kitchen cabinet?"

"You are the new owner of this house?" Optimus came to the very edge of the cabinet, and glanced at her. She stood up and held out her hand, allowing him to walk on.

"Yeah. Name's Tally." She raised an eyebrow. "Wait, who was the first owner?"

"Someone who was playing with things he shouldn't have been," the gold-and-black mech, Prowl, spoke up.

"Playing with things?"

"He conducted experiments," Optimus answered, snagging her attention again. "Morally ambiguous ones. We were his last - apparently he hadn't expected it to work."

Another mech stepped forward; this one was primarily white with green and red accents, and the cute little fins on either side of his head lit up bright blue. "He trapped us in these bodies!" he protested. "He transferred our sparks and our processors and then he just _left_ us! With no idea of how to get back! As crazy as _my_ experiments are, even I would have the decency to do as much as I could to reverse it if I did something like _that!_"

"And his experiments _are_ crazy, believe me," Bumblebee laughed. "That's Wheeljack, he's missing a few screws. Think you could help us find them?"

Wheeljack glared at Bumblebee, taking a slightly offensive stance toward the appropriately named bot. "This isn't a laughing matter, Bumblebee! We've been stuck here for over a deca cycle and there's a _war_ occurring! Plus, if you hadn't noticed, **_WE'RE TINIER THAN EDWARD ELRIC!_**"

"Whoa whoa," Tally interrupted any further ranting, reaching her hand forward so she could at least _try_ to diffuse the situation. "Everybody, calm down. Let's cool off a little here." She scooped Wheeljack up into her hand. "Now, it's alright. I mean, this is weird for sure, but... more than half my life is weird, so yeah. I'll try and help any way I - wait. You said there's a _war_ going on? What the what?"

"With the Decepticons!" Bumblebee shouted so she could hear. (She could hear anyway, though she suspected he didn't care either way.) "They're the bad guys, remember!"

"We haven't been able to ascertain where their base is," Optimus clarified, stepping out of her hand and onto the counter. "We've been searching, but we haven't gotten very far. Their base may not even be on this level of the building."

"So..." She reached back and rubbed at her neck. "_Your_ base is in the cupboard?"

"We used to be under the table," Bumblebee answered. "But the Decepticon scum found us!"

"We had to relocate," Prowl added. "Another attack would have been imminent had we stayed there."

"Okay, I understand that." She scratched her head, sighing. Somehow she got the feeling that was _way_ more okay with this than she ought to be. She _ought_ to be passed out on the floor by now, but she decided to just chalk it up to the artist gene. "So... you have no idea where _their_ base is? Like, they could be _anywhere?_"

"Anywhere except in there-" Bumblebee pointed at the fridge.

"- Or out there," Prowl added, gesturing to the living room.

"Gotcha." She took a step away. "Well, um... I'm gonna get settled in and put a Band-Aid on my cheek because I was smart enough to pack some. Is there anything you guys need?"

"Just be on the lookout for Decepticons," Optimus warned. "They are hostile - I assume especially to newcomers."

She rolled her eyes. "If they're the same height as you, I think I can handle 'em. So, uh... anybody needs anything, come find me. Not sure where I'll be. Probably somewhere wondering if this is all a dream or someone fed me bad acid. See ya."

She walked off, back to the living room to grab her stuff and unpack. After a moment, a red-and-white bot wrestled his way to the front of the group to look out. "I don't trust that femme!"

"You don't trust _anyone,_ Red Alert," Bumblebee pointed out.

Red Alert pouted and crossed his arms before leaning out to get a better look at the human. He went a bit too far, and shrieked as he plummeted down onto the counter. He did a faceplant, prompting Bumblebee's laughter, then he raised a shaking servo with one digit outstretched. "Th-That doesn't mean I'm wrong! _And stop laughing!_"

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**Poor Red Alert. Poor Wheeljack.**

**... Poor TALLY.**

**Judging by my first chapter of rules, can anybody guess what'll happen next? XD**

**I hope y'all enjoyed, and if you have any suggestions for rules, refer to "Honey, I Shrunk the Robots: An Official Rule Book"!**

**Happy holidays, everyone! Thanks for reading! ^^**


End file.
